The Mysterious Affair of Charles Daggett
by Nothing Really Specific
Summary: What do Panchito Pistoles and Charles Daggett have in common? Well, they were both murdered. By whom? The same person. The weird part is, Charles is in England, and Panchito is in Mexico. They were killed a day apart from each other. However there is a solution to the problem: Basil of Baker Street. M: Character Death via Suicide, Violence


**The Mysterious Affair of Charles Daggett**

_People are like hobbits, only taller. - _Basil

**Chapter I: England's Patriot**

**A Starbucks Coffee Shop**

**London, England **

**Present Day**

"The human race is a simple story, but it is a story that is composed of many chapters, many characters, and infinite plot twists. I guess that's why I study them so much, you people are like hobbits, only taller."

Basil, a rodent of words and respectability, was visiting a friend of his in London. Basil was a brown mouse in a brown Norfolk jacket, matching cloth cap, brown trousers, formal black dress shoes and appeared like a regular Sherlock Holmes every day of every week of every year of his life. The tobacco pipe, Basil kept in a cigar container with a small pouch of tobacco inside as well. This cigar container was in his left pocket.

"I suppose so," Charles Daggatt, a British man of roughly five foot seven, wore a white button up shirt, a brown suit jacket, black belt and faded khaki's. He looked more like a rejected cast member of _Reservoir Dogs_.

"I just don't feel important." Charles said continuing as he and Basil sat in a coffee shop. It was a street place filled with seven tables, a counter with pastries and a former bartender whose name was Polly, and a door that had a squeaky hinge. Charles and Basil sat in a window table. Basil, who was on the table due to the fact that he was a mouse, ordered a simple glass of water, while Charles ordered a cup of black coffee which was still steaming. Outside, there was an overcast, there was a ten percent chance of rain.

"Well, I beg to differ." Basil replied.

"Gee, thanks." Charles said, feeling a bit less important now. It wasn't the fact that Basil wasn't a good friend, he was, his best friend in fact. Basil was the type of friend to Charles that if Charles were running down the street and was being shot at by a degenerate then Basil would apprehend the man _as well as_ the bullet.

"What's the matter Charles?"

"Nothing Basil," the man said, "just thinking about tomorrow."

"Well you know what they say about sunrises and sunsets." Basil said.

"No, I don't." Charles said.

"They are most definite," Basil said, "and what do they bring you?"

"Worry."

"Something is wrong with you isn't there." Basil said.

"Nothing is wrong with me Basil!" Charles said, "I'm just, a bit down is all."

"Usually when I ask that question you say something along the lines of hope or joy, never worry. That has left me to be gravely concerned." Basil said, he noticed that Charles had not drank his coffee. At this point, he would have drank it all and asked for another. The waitress, Miss Kathy, even expected him to request another for he and Basil visited the same Starbucks coffee shop every Monday and Friday and ordered the same beverage.

"Why Charles!" Kathy cried a bit surprised, "You haven't drank your coffee, is something wrong?"

"No Kathy." Charles said. "Just, not feeling up to coffee today." He looked down and put a stirrer in his cup, he stirred the stirrer but did nothing in terms of consumption. He just sat there, drifting back and forth from the coffee shop and his head, in which he was thinking about what happened over the weekend.

Kathy turned towards Basil, "Anything else I can get you Mister Basil?"

"No thank you Miss Kathy," Basil answered with a smile, "I think I'll just take the check."

"Alright," Kathy said, "hey, is he okay?"

Basil sighed, "He's being very complicated and grim this morning. He claims to be sane but I deduce some disturbance. It's almost as if he's not even talking to me but the wall or the window."

"You'd be right." Charles said, "I'm sorry for not thinking clearly or paying attention, I'll split the check."

"No, you're obviously in poor health and are in no condition to have financial disputes over wasted coffee and water." Basil answered, "I'll pay the check, you can repay the favor by purchasing some tobacco for me at the convenient store."

"I'll have it to you by Tuesday." Charles said.

Kathy walked away to the counter and cash register and rang up the prices for the beverages. Basil then hopped the floor with Charles right on his tail. The man helped the mouse up the counter and the rodent paid the bill.

6.29 Great British Pounds, or in United States currency, $10.53.

As Basil and Charles turned to leave, Dawson, Basil's assistant and business partner strode through expressively as if the blitz were happening all over again.

"Basil!" Dawson cried catching his breath a moment.

"Dawson," Basil said, "what seems to be the trouble?"

"You remember Miss Olivia correct?" Dawson asked.

"Of course." Basil replied with a bit of worry. "What sort of trouble has she got herself into this time?"

"Well for one thing she's dead."

"Dead!" Basil cried taken aback. His eyes were about as big as his head.

Dawson nodded, "Yes, Basil, she's gone. I'm so sorry."

"I'll kill whoever did this!"

"You can't kill natural causes Basil," Dawson said.

"What?" Basil asked. "What do you mean?"

"She died of natural causes. Last night in her sleep. Poor girl, she was so young too." Dawson said.

"Are you sure Dawson?" Basil asked.

"What do you mean 'are you sure Dawson' I am a medical professional!" Dawson cried.

"You have been a wrong and ill informed medical professional!" Basil shouted back.

Dawson's eyes had no sparkle or hint of inquiry, he was one hundred percent certain. Olivia was dead. There was no denial.

Basil sighed and nodded, "Does the father know?"

"He does." Dawson, "He requests your consul, oh and Panchito called, there has been some trouble over in Mexico."

"Isn't he a private investigator?" Basil asked.

"Yes but-"

"Then he should handle his own affair." Basil said "What happens across the Atlantic is not my business."

"Well, considering that he's dead." Dawson said, "This time it _was_ murder."

"What did you say?" Charles asked a bit confused.

"Panchito Gonzales, also known by his surname Pistoles, is dead." Dawson said.

Charles nodded and slowly walked out of the place.

"Charles," Basil started to say, "wait just a moment."

"What is it Basil?"

"You shoe is untied." The mouse said. Charles looked down, saw that it was and tied it back up. Once he stood Charles straightened his shirt and said: "Thanks."

He hesitated at the door, leaning his head against the glass. On the outside, his forehead was magnified, making him look like a grotesque martyr of the church. Charles closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Mister Daggatt," Dawson said, "everything will be okay."

"Quiet so," Basil replied quickly, "we'll find him."

"I'm going away gentlemen." Charles said. "I don't know where I'll be heading but I know that I'm going away. Thanks for the coffee Basil."

He opened the door and slowly walked out of the Starbucks.

Before the door could close, Basil and Dawson scurried across the floor and rushed out to the street but Charles was at a nearby payphone.

It was one out of six payphones left in service in the United Kingdom and the only one in London. A five minute conversation cost a quarter.

Charles dialed a number. The dial tone rang once, twice, a third.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.

Charles didn't answer, he was speechless, unable to speak, as the ghost had already left him.

Basil and Dawson walked over toward him.

"Hello?" the woman on the phone asked.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Charles said, "I dialed the wrong number. Apologizes."

"That's alright," the woman said, "have a nice day sir."

"You too." Charles said. The sound of disconnection. Once Charles was assured that the woman was no longer on the phone he slammed it back into the receiver and stormed off. Ironically, it began to rain slightly.

"Charles!"

Mister Daggett turned and saw Basil right behind him.

"What do you want?" Charles asked.

"I just wanted you to know, that it's been a pleasure. Anything you need of me?"

"No." Charles replied, "I just need to be alone, pack my things and leave."

Basil knew that Charles wasn't going anywhere and do anything but stand on a chair in his living room and produce a rope.

He knew of Charles' tragedy recently and has tried his best to refrain from the mentioning of it for fear of causing more grief. Basil had specifically requested that Charles go see Tilden Wavell, Basil's cousin, who was a colleague of Dawson's but had also a license in consort. The sessions have been working, and Tilden thought that Charles was perfectly fine so he completely stopped the sessions about a month ago. Now it seems that Charles was beginning to go through a severe case of depression and anxiety that only bargaining and sheer anger at God could produce.

Charles continued down the street towards his apartment. Basil chased after him with Dawson in pursuit.

"Charles," Basil said, "let's talk about this!"

"There is nothing to discuss." Charles said as he walked up to his porch which was large enough for a small chair and table but not much else. Charles Daggett's apartment was a flat located past the highway towards the north end of Baker Street towards Basil's residence. He pulled out his keys, opened the door and shut it in Basil's face.

Basil vaulted up the stairs and assaulted the door with his forepaws.

"Charles!" He shouted. "Charles, don't do this, you're making a mistake! Don't do this."

There was no answer.

"I'm your friend Charles, I'm your friend, you can't do this to me!" Basil screamed.

Silence.

"Charles!"

Basil climbed to the nearest windowsill and peered in. He saw Charles go into his dinning room and grab a chair. After this, he walked, chair in hand to the kitchen. The rodent in desperation screamed again:

"Don't do this Charles!"

Basil turned towards Dawson, "Dawson, cane, now!"

Dawson, who had his cane with him at all times, tossed it up to Basil who caught it in an adept way. The mouse then unsheathed the hidden sword and stabbed the window glass, cutting a hole big enough for him to crawl through. As he was working, he kept an eye on Charles, who was busy looking for a rope, but then he found something better.

"Dawson," Basil said looking at his partner, "he's going to kill himself."

"We can't help that Basil." Dawson said, "If that is his choice then-"

"Then he's making a big mistake." Basil finished, "I will not lose him to you understand, I won't let this happen again, I still can't forgive myself for the last time."

"What happened to her was not your fault Basil," Dawson said, "she was just-"

"Too stupid and moronic enough to go through with it?"

"No." Dawson said, "She was just, she had her problems is all."

"I sent her to Til, Dawson, he's the best psychiatrist in the country." Basil said.

"Yes and look what happened to her Basil. Tilden can't fix everything you know. I'm sorry that she's dead but she just is. You have to let Charles make his choice just as she made hers."

"I can't do that again!" Basil screamed. "I don't want to have to do it again, go through that hell again! I barely made it out Dawson, I barely made it out alive and I still feel it should be me that should be dead and not Felicia!"

"I would lose a friend and England a sound patriot." Dawson replied.

Basil did not answer this.

The mouse then looked back at the house and saw innocence taken with a pistol barrel. Basil stopped his work, for he continued to do so after his agreement with Dawson and noticed that he could now push the cut glass open. He did so.

"Charles." Basil said again. Silence.

Charles' apartment was simple. After the door was a staircase that lead to the bedroom and bathroom. To the right was a living room. To the left was a kitchen and behind that was the dining room.

Basil jumped through the hole he made and onto the floor, being careful of the shattered glass that was now covering the floor. He walked towards the kitchen as Dawson quickly followed him only the doctor took a look around at the rest of the place.

Charles performed the act. A chair lay still. Charles himself was draped over the back like a fallen angel, an Esmeralda position. Arms outstretched as if opening himself to God, head bent back toward the counter. Eyes affixed down to the floor. The chin was mauled to pieces and the pistol that took his life was in his lap.

Underneath the chair was a piece of paper, a letter, with Basil's name on it.

"Dawson." Basil whispered.

The doctor was inspecting the place still.

Basil turned and spoke louder, "Dawson."

Silence.

"Dawson!" Basil's lungs about burst this time. The answering silence was killing him and seeing someone he knew just three hours ago was asking about the weather over coffee and ice water was now dead in his home.

"Yes?" Dawson said but stopped himself from saying anything more. "Oh dear," he said, as he watched Basil submit to his emotions and fall to his knees on the floor.

"I'm a patriot you say?" Basil asked, tears flowing down his furred face and rolling to the whiskers.

"Does a patriot allow his friends to kill themselves!"

Dawson stood beside his companion and embraced him as hard as Basil would let him.

"Basil you mustn't be so hard on yourself. It was his choice."

"Why did he do it though Dawson? Was- was it because of me? Or was it because of-" he stopped himself and stood up. "Victoria."

"His wife?" Dawson asked.

"Indeed." Basil replied as he picked up the letter and read it carefully.

"Dawson-"

"Is the game afoot?" Dawson asked.

Basil folded up the letter and stuffed it in his coat, took out his pipe, lit it, inhaled a bit of smoke and said, without looking back. "Most definitely."


End file.
